“I won’t,” I promised.
Then he’d run back inside without drama because five-year-olds don’t linger unless something feels wrong.
Still, getting back into the car alone had felt… quieter than usual.
Mum and Dad only get back from France around lunchtime. They’d booked that trip months ago, back when the friendlies hadn't been agreed yet. You don’t cancel something like that unless you have to.
Not ideal.
But manageable.
I’d thought briefly about asking Ava if she could take him to school.
The thought had come easily.
Too easily.
And that’s exactly why I hadn’t asked.
Three weeks is still three weeks. Even if it feels like she’s been here longer. Even if Alfie already leans into her like she’s safe. Even if she’s started leaving a hair tie on my bedside table without noticing.
You don’t hand someone your kid at six in the morning unless you’re sure you’re not asking too much.
So I hadn’t asked.
Still not sure if that was restraint or cowardice.
My phone buzzes again.
I glance down absentmindedly.
And my stomach drops.
3 missed calls – St. Cuthbert’s Primary School
For a second I just stare at it.
Then I’m already moving away from the group, noise fading behind me as something cold settles in my chest.
I press call.
“St. Cuthbert’s Primary School, reception.”
“Hi. This is Jack Westland. I’ve just seen I had missed calls about my son, Alfie Westland. Is he alright?”
“One moment please, Mr Westland. I’ll just put you through to Mrs Carter.”
My pulse starts climbing.
A click.
Then a calm, steady voice.
“Mr Westland? This is Margaret Carter, headteacher. First of all, please don’t panic. Alfie is conscious and talking but we had to take him to hospital.”
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I’ve missed a step on the stairs.
Chapter 20
